


Looseleaf Pages

by Athene



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Gen, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-05
Updated: 2018-01-26
Packaged: 2018-09-06 18:41:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 8,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8764615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Athene/pseuds/Athene
Summary: Canon and AU drabbles revolving around Ienzo or Zexion. Each chapter is a separate drabble with its own basis and plot.





	1. First Impressions

**Author's Note:**

> Aeleus meets Lord Ansem's new ward and makes an attempt to comfort the quiet child.

Getting a smile out of Ienzo seemed like it would be a formidable task.  
  
The little boy’s body language suggested shyness, tucked against Lord Ansem’s side while the king introduced his new ward to his apprentices and staff. That silent dependence seemed at odds with his placid face, half-hidden by the shroud of his hair. It seemed that he was already learning how to close himself off—how to protect himself behind masks. If he was as smart as His Lordship proclaimed, it would only be a matter of time before he mastered that facade of composure.  
  
Even more so than the tragic circumstances that led to the boy living in the castle, that realization rang sad in his head. No child so young should have pretend to be something they were not.  
  
He waited for the others to introduce themselves—Braig with all his cocksure joviality, Dilan with his dry brevity, Even with his assessing ambiguity; of the three, Even seemed the most resistant to the idea of a child around the castle, openly unsure of what the youth could offer in a lab of adults.  
  
Ever the patient one, he was the last to formally greet Ienzo, and he did so on bended knee. “I’m the tallest person you’ll ever see around the castle,” he said in way of greeting and explanation, seeing that spark of curiosity in the boy’s visible eye. “I don’t think anyone has said it yet, but welcome to your new home.”  
  
In that moment, he witnessed a myriad of emotions play over Ienzo’s face, raw and real and hurt, and he scooted a little closer as the child stopped himself from scrubbing at his eyes.  
  
“It’s all right.” Aeleus reached into his pocket, pulling out a handkerchief that, on any other day, would eventually be used to mop his brow after guard duty. He passed the square of cloth to Ienzo with a small smile. “If you ever need it, it’s there. For whatever you need.”  
  
Ienzo nodded, turning the handkerchief over in his hands before patting at his eyes. Though he said nothing, Aeleus took it as a good sign that the little gift soon made its way into the boy’s pocket.  
  
One step at a time.


	2. Indulgence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Big risk, big reward. Braig introduces Ienzo to his style of recklessness.

Braig was far from the ideal caretaker of a child; the other apprentices were in unanimous agreement that the gun-toting guard was more likely to get Ienzo into trouble than keep him out of it. Unfortunately, between the various duties that kept everyone busy and Ienzo’s penchant to wander, there were bound to be times when the two would meet without further supervision to dissuade Braig from doing anything reckless.

That was why, on one excursion out of the castle, Ienzo found himself in the Outer Gardens with Braig, descending into the bowels of the waterways that provided the city with so many of its utilities. While the railings were high enough to keep Ienzo safe from any chance of falling the immense distance below, they also barred him from some of the really interesting angles to take in the pipework and free-falling water.

Braig smirked as he noticed Ienzo trying to pulling himself up enough to see over the railing, reaching down to tousle his hair. “You wanna take a better look, squirt?”

Ienzo frowned, both at the ruffling of his hair and the look on Braig’s face; he’d learned quickly to be wary of that expression. Still,  he eventually nodded, unable to see much beyond the thick lip of the railing.

A startled gasp escaped him as Braig hefted him up with an arm around his waist, his hands immediately seeking out and clinging onto the guard’s shoulder.

Braig whistled as he adjusted his grip, Ienzo seated on the crook of his arm as he warped space around them.

And Ienzo looked down, down, _down_ as they reappeared some twenty feet away from the landing, unable to see anything beyond the white haze of water hitting some distant bottom.

As he strolled midair with his little passenger, whistling easily, Braig seemed to recall something. “Huh. Guess I never said anything about keeping this under your hat, did I?”

Ienzo filed that fact away and continued staring in fascination at the seemingly white abyss, never once releasing his vice-like grip on Braig’s shoulder.


	3. Regret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is it a dream? Or a nightmare?

It was always the same dream.

He stood in a room–a hallway lined with cells. At the far side, a child stood at an open cell, slowly stepping back and turning away.

It didn’t matter how quickly he pursued the child; even if he began moving immediately, the child was out the door before he could grab hold.

Out the door. Around the spiral pathway. Up the hidden staircase. No matter how he shouted, the child didn’t stop.

But in the lab… In the lab, the child finally turned around. Expressionless. Faceless. Trembling in fear and confusion.

A hand fell on his shoulder, remaining there as he looked up at muted brown eyes. “Good job, Ienzo.”

And he watched in silence as Xehanort took the child’s arm and proceeded back down to the underground lab.

It was always the same dream, and he felt absolutely nothing.


	4. Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zexion and Xion. It's hard to fall asleep when someone is observing you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canon AU in which Xion is more aware of people and her surroundings before half the Organization goes to Castle Oblivion.

Xion lay in silence, shifting once in awhile on the bed. Zexion glanced up from his notes, raising a brow but remaining quiet as he observed. When a restless sigh escaped Xion, she sat up and curled her legs to one side, hesitant to look at Zexion. Though he wasn’t her creator, there was enough familiarity with his observation routines that she was hesitant to speak; Vexen was rather unforgiving in how he dictated her sleep schedule, especially when they were on the verge of leaving on a supposed long-term assignment to another castle.  
  
“I can’t sleep.”  
  
“Clearly.” Zexion flipped to a new page, jotting something down before looking at her again. “You will undoubtedly have a mission tomorrow though; you need your rest.”  
  
Xion nodded, staring at her hands folded on her lap. Maybe it was precisely because she was going to have a mission tomorrow that she felt restless. “Do you know anything that will help me sleep…?”  
  
“There are various home remedies, but that would require leaving the room to fetch equipment.” Zexion had returned his attention to his papers, writing something lengthy even as he talked. “You will have to make do with what’s available.”  
  
The indifferent reply hurt a little, and Xion worried her lower lip for a moment before speaking again. “Okay then. You’re available, right?”  
  
She flinched even as she asked the question, expecting an equally cold reply. But Zexion instead paused in his writing, studying her as if he hadn’t expected her to think that far out of the box—or perhaps he hadn’t expected her to be bold enough to voice her thought.  
  
Either way, it earned Xion a snort for her troubles, and Zexion set his notes down to give her his undivided attention. “Very well. I have something that may help and will pertain to your future missions.”  
  
Xion settled back onto her bed, watching curiously as Zexion used his powers to darken the white-walled room. Tiny dots of light began to appear on her ceiling, each at its own different intensity. As she lay there, mesmerized, she could hear the Schemer’s voice out of the darkness.  
  
 _Twinkle, twinkle, little star_  
 _How I wonder what you are_  
 _Up above the world so high_  
 _Like a diamond in the sky_  
  
 _When the blazing sun is gone_  
 _When he nothing shines upon_  
 _Then you show your little light_  
 _Twinkle, twinkle, all the night_  
  
It was obvious from his pitch that Zexion did not sing often, but he didn’t make any grandiose changes in intonation. If anything, his voice gave a certain eerieness to the starlit darkness.  
  
 _Then the traveller in the dark_  
 _Thanks you for your tiny spark_  
 _He could not see which way to go_  
 _If you did not twinkle so_  
  
 _As your bright and tiny spark_  
 _Lights the traveller in the dark_  
 _Though I know not what you are_  
 _Twinkle, twinkle, little star_  
  
One by one, the stars began to disappear from the sky. Zexion continued to sing, and Xion slowly relaxed as she adjusted to the idea of the singing being lulling in its tone.  
  
 _Twinkle, twinkle, little star_  
 _How I wonder what you are_  
 _Up above the world so high_  
 _Like a diamond in the sky_  
 _Twinkle, twinkle, little star_  
 _How I wonder what you are_  
  
When the song ended, the darkness was complete and Zexion said no more. Xion shifted, turning over into her pillow, and repeated the first verse a few times in her head.  
  
Even as she finally succumbed to slumber, she couldn’t completely let go of the thought that there was something ominous about Zexion’s entire performance.


	5. An Old Favorite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aeleus and Ienzo. After recompletion, there are still some things that can be considered pleasant surprises.

It was unusual for Ienzo’s face to contort with real emotion–not for lack of opportunities, but more out of a level of apathy that he often found himself unable to conquer. Strange as it was to admit, years of faking expressions and gauging reactions before creating his own had left him suitably unequipped to deal with the return of his heart.

So the puzzled frown he aimed at Aeleus elicited a brief chuckle from the former guardsman.

“How on earth did you get this?”

“I’ve told you in the past that my family has a farm. They sent them over shortly after they were ready to harvest.” When Ienzo remained silent and expectant, Aeleus continued. “Dilan helped prepare everything.”

Ienzo slowly blinked and glanced off in the direction of the kitchen. “Really now? I never smelled it.”

“You underestimate his control over air.”

“I see.” He most certainly _did_ underestimate Dilan’s control over the element after their recompletion. Interesting. That would explain how he was kept in the dark this whole time. “I will have to thank him later.”

“The best thanks is a genuine compliment.” Aeleus nudged a small plate across the dining table, offering a fork to replace the pencil Ienzo still held in one hand.

Ienzo considered protesting the trade, knowing that stopping to eat now would just delay finishing the report he was writing for Even. But Aeleus was patient and stoic in the face of his hesitation – and Ienzo soon relented, setting down his pencil to instead awkwardly hold the fork.

Aeleus turned his attention to filling the small plate he had readied, knife and spoon carefully used in lieu of proper serving utensils. Ienzo bent forward to enjoy the smell of the freshly-cut pumpkin pie, a satisfied little sigh escaping him at last.

“Thank you, Aeleus. You didn’t have to do this.”

Aeleus simply smiled and reached over to save the pie from Ienzo’s long hair.


	6. Lost Lamb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Modern AU, based on a professions prompt. Ienzo is bored and aimless and more than a little naive.

Ienzo’s studies in theology were doomed from the beginning.

Entering a divinity school was, at its heart, an act of rebellion; his foster father was very much a secular scientist, and he was surrounded by his colleagues growing up. He studied religion as a means to understand the more cutting sarcasm made by some of his father’s more crass colleagues, and kept up with it when it drew comments from said types. His foster father was open-minded about the whole matter, and even congratulated him for earning a scholarship at the divinity school of one of the more prestigious universities.

But he was a gifted intellectual, and boredom followed him into his field. Some would call it a crisis in faith, growing disenchanted with what one dedicated so much time and energy in, but Ienzo had pursued his studies to be contrary, and was ultimately disingenuous even to himself.

So he dropped out of his major, offering his foster father an apology and promising he would figure out another major and correct course.

It was lip service at best, when he had no idea what he wanted to do with his life.

Learning about different faiths as a whole had the interesting effect of being aware of the power of charisma. Anyone could put words to paper and claim it as doctrine, but there had to be a magnetic someone holding those words aloft to gain any sort of attention–a prophet who was both composed and frenetic, capable of consuming thoughts and making the lackluster magical.

Ienzo would never have considered Xehanort a prophet, casually met as they both whiled away time in a coffee shop.

But that didn’t stop Ienzo from listening to him.

Or following after him.

Or eventually killing for him.


	7. Watery Dilemma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zexion runs into a problem while he's on a mission. Or, more accurately, a problem runs into him.

In the end, Zexion blamed magic for his predicament. After all, it was hardly his fault that he was sent to investigate the underwater portion of this new world. (Light forbid that Demyx get the one mission he actually _wanted_ and would competently fulfill.) It was also hardly his fault that the magical energies that allowed them to shapeshift into more environment-appropriate forms chose to change him into a merman.

And it was completely and utterly _not_ his fault that he happened to enter the world all of two fathoms away from a trawl.

The fishermen were just as a stunned by his appearance as he was, pacing their trawlers and shouting back and forth over their shared net. Zexion struggled as the trawl was drawn together, saltwater burning into rope abrasions and shallow piercings left by fish spines. He was left entangled in the net as it was hauled onto one of the boats, the fishermen quickly moving their suddenly-less-important fish into the hold before returning their attention to him.

Disdain crossed his face as they prodded at his arms, and he clubbed one of the younger sailors hard when he prodded at his fishtail. Zexion _almost_ believed he felt satisfaction in hearing the boy howl in pain over his broken fingers.

Of course, that faint sensation quickly dissipated when he was bound and lowered into the hold, replaced by irritation. He squirmed in the shallow water among the panicked fish, barely able to see anything once the hold was covered up and the fishermen set course for their home port. With his arms bound, he couldn’t cast any worthwhile magic, let alone summon his lexicon.

He would have to ride this out and look for an opportunity to escape. Not an easy feat when he would have to pull his coat out of his lexicon before entering a corridor of darkness, but the risk involved outweighed any inconvenience.

The other option was to wait for rescue, and _that_ was simply unacceptable.


	8. A Momentary Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before his mind was overwhelmed with anger and hate, Ansem the Wise still had the capacity to worry.

Ienzo was gone before the fall of the world. Ansem was sure of that.

Knowing that fact didn’t stop him from agonizing over what might have happened, though–before the darkness spread over his heart and sent his bitterness and anger spiraling out of control.

The short moments he allowed himself to rest in the abyss were filled with half-formed nightmares and snippets of actual events–hurrying down the castle corridors at the sight of Heartless escaping the labs. _Where_ were they coming from? The manufactory should have been _shut down_ …

But he never reached the labs. Xehanort saw to that, taunting him with his mere presence as he was sent spiraling into the depths. He had the audacity to _smile_ as he watched him fall, as if he had planned everything from the beginning. Maybe he had. It was a thought that would fester and grow in the darkness.

Other thoughts festered and grew in the dark, too. The darkness swept memories away and replaced them with rage, and soon he found himself in doubt of _whens_ and _wheres_ and smaller details that made their ways into his momentary dreams.

His study was in disarray, desk overturned and empty glass containers shattered on the ground. He slowed, heart hammering in his chest and blood roaring in his ears, as he carefully made his way towards the lab.

A sob stopped him in his tracks. Another one had him crouching in the destruction, peering under the desk.

The short trail of Ienzo’s labcoat was visible in the light. When he moved closer, he could see the tips of slate blue hair, further confirming the boy’s identity.

“Ienzo, it’s all right. Come along now.”

The sobs trailed off into hesitant sniffles. He waited patiently for Ienzo to crawl out and join him.

But the semidarkness underneath the desk was broken by sudden light. And when Ienzo looked at him, hands dropping from his face to his lap, all he saw were the luminous yellow eyes of a Heartless, rendering the child’s face unrecognizable.


	9. Safe in Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A glimpse into a verse where Lexaeus is at some point killed, where Zexion deals with his loss and dangerous thoughts.

Zexion talked to himself.

He wasn't sure when he first acknowledged it, but it was a somber moment when it happened. There was no one nearby to silently raise a brow in question, no one to physically placate him when his frustrations almost seemed real. His eyes darted around the library before he shut his lexicon, suddenly uncomfortable with the silence.

When Lexaeus was around, the silence was never oppressive. Perhaps it was an attachment to memory from when they were both human--when the guardsman met the orphan's silence head-on, injecting acts of comfort into an otherwise withdrawn existence. Perhaps it was a foolish, unconscious attempt to simulate a real connection--something they could not do without hearts.

They were interesting thoughts that he took for granted, much like he did Lexaeus' presence. It was only in his absence, with that stark, empty seat in the Round Room mocking him, that he wondered about such things.

They were dangerous thoughts. He didn't have to voice them aloud to _know_ that they would earn him unfavorable looks from his peers and the Superior.

So he stopped talking to himself and fell into the orphan's silence, before he knew the guardsman's kindness.

It was safer. And suffocating.


	10. Tossed Around

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zexion and Lexaeus. "Nobodies don't age" AU. While exploring Deep Jungle, Zexion and Lexaeus run into Powerwilds that take advantage of Zexion looking like a small child.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the "Nobodies don't age" AU, Nobodies don't physically age from the time they were turned into Nobodies. So Zexion is perpetually approximately 11 years old (without the use of illusions), and Saix and Axel would be in their mid-teens.

Zexion sighed as Lexaeus straightened, frowning at the wisps of darkness that marked the passing of several Powerwild Heartless. The monkey-like Heartless had proven far too rambunctious to be left alone, especially after they decided that Zexion resembled a toy and tackled him, taking turns dragging him off into the jungle.

Lexaeus had followed immediately, a thundering beast of a Nobody as he splintered trees and tore down vines in his pursuit of the Heartless and captured companion. But the monsters were ridiculously agile and strong despite their size, hauling Zexion halfway up trees and tossing him around like he was nothing more than--

\--well, a child.

The moment they entered a sizable clearing, Lexaeus brought down Skysplitter with a growl that demanded attention, erecting an arena of stone slabs that provided the Heartless with little way to climb out. They finally dropped their "toy" and twitched around the enclosure for a few seconds before trying to stack themselves up to escape. The Silent Hero closed the distance while the Heartless were distracted, hauling the stunned and dirt-covered Zexion onto the relative safety of his shoulders before he set out destroying each of the trapped Powerwilds.

In the aftermath, Zexion pushed away Skysplitter when Lexaeus began to prop it on his shoulder--a habitual motion that would have led to the weapon's significant weight resting on the smaller Nobody's thigh. There was no apology, but a grunt of acknowledgment was audible before he dismissed the axe-sword into nothingness.

"This doesn't get mentioned to anyone." Zexion's voice was shaky with exhaustion, and he settled his arms on Lexaeus' hair while they both caught their breath.

"Your uniform will have to be explained."

He mustered up the strength to glare, though it didn't do him any good in his current position.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been contemplating opening up for writing prompts in some way, simply because it'd be nice to get some different ideas flowing. I can't imagine I'd be able to write every single prompt I get though, so that's currently stumping me.


	11. Darkening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Canon AU; based on a meme prompt. Something is happening to Zexion, and he faces its effects in silence.

_10% Darkening_

The onset is slow and, as most things are when they creep up on someone, unnoticed. For Zexion, it manifests in slight changes in sleep behavior–sleeping a little longer, staying up a little longer. Waking up in the middle of the night for no apparent reason.

Hardly noteworthy, considering he occasionally does not sleep well.

 

 

_20% Darkening_

A Heartless?

He glances to his left, frowning when he is not greeted by luminous eyes. Nothing. There’s nothing. When he carefully attunes his senses, he finds there’s no noticeable change in the darkness around him–no concentrated scents in a world steeped in it.

But even after assuring himself that there is nothing there, Zexion still stops and looks when he sees something dark in his periphery.

_Nothing. There’s nothing._

He will try sleeping early tonight.

 

 

_30% Darkening_

Zexion pinches the bridge of his nose as a headache splits his concentration. His reading for the day is not going well at all, and he squeezes his eyes shut as he tries to will away the pain. Why headaches? Too many sleep-disrupted nights?

Breathe deep and wait. Release slow and steady. Inhale. Exhale.

Despite his breathing, he still ends up curling his empty hand into a fist and shaking his head. It only worsens his headache, and he groans.

 

 

 

_40% Darkening_

The lack of sleep shows on his face. Lexaeus parks him in front of a mirror and Zexion frowns at the visible bags under his eyes. 

“Is something wrong?” 

The question is met with a shake of his head. He doesn’t know what’s wrong; he just knows that he’s not sleeping well. He doesn’t remember any notable dreams. He just looks tired. That’s all there is to it.

_Lies. All lies._

He doesn’t tell Lexaeus about the sounds. The feeling of being watched. The sensation of something being just within his peripheral view but not being there when he focuses on it.

What would he even say? It’s not like he can express worry.

He’s a _Nobody_.

 

 

_50% Darkening_

He strikes Demyx in agitation. It surprises both of them.

Demyx waves off the physical strike with a complaint about not needing report reminders _that_ badly, and it’s all Zexion needs to avoid some sort of jittery apology. He glares briefly before regaining his composure, declaring in no uncertain terms that he wants the report turned in to Saix within the hour. 

Joint missions with Demyx could be trying, but hitting him for his lackadaisical attitude was unprecedented.

Zexion slowly exhales as Demyx takes his leave, his eye twitching as he catches sight of something just beyond his vision.

Again. _Again_. 

Deep breaths don’t help. The shadow just won’t go away.

 

 

_60% Darkening_

There. _There_.

Zexion squeezes his eyes shut at his ears seem to _crackle_ , as if his brain is straining to make sense of what is happening. His eyes sting when he opens them again, and he feels a hysterical little laugh climbing up in his throat as he clutches the Book of Retribution to his side.

There _is_ something--some _one_ \--there. Someone _has_ been watching him, somehow remaining beyond his senses. Playing him for the fool, mocking him with every pause and doubt that enters his mind.

His laugh is one of triumph. Or so he tells himself.

It might as well have been one of bewilderment. 

The _someone_ he focuses on shares his face, but his eyes glow yellow.

Like a Heartless.

 

 

_70% Darkening_

Now that Zexion sees the dark someone who shares his face, he doesn’t hide. He seems to appear at random intervals, taking in the castle or the scenery of whatever world they are in.

They talk—or, more specifically, he inquires and challenges the other’s existence. For a while, his comments are met with silence. He only seems willing to answer when his headaches are at their worst.

 “I don’t detect anything emanating from you. How do I know you are real?”

“Do you claim to know everything? Your former mentors would scold you for elevating yourself so far from your scientific roots.”

His golden-eyed doppelganger speaks eloquently, equally aloof and interested in his reactions. Confronted with the traits, Zexion finds himself thinking there is something familiar about what he sees. But his eyes hurt and his brain rebels in the form of headaches, and it takes all of his concentration to keep that _face_ in view.

“I exist beyond time—and through me, you exist as well. That is what you want, is it not?”

“Don’t talk in riddles.” His words are laced with sleep-deprived irritation, and he emphatically shakes his head. “If you don’t know what it is that I want, you have no claim to my face.”

As he watches his lookalike smirk at him, all Zexion can think is that it’s an unpleasant expression.

 

 

_80% Darkening_

“I’m concerned.” 

Lexaeus is very straightforward. Zexion meets his gaze with an impassive expression, though he tightly crosses his arms over his chest. His pale, pinched skin easily shows the faint twitch to his brow as he glances down like a sullen child. 

“There is nothing that warrants it. Don’t you have a mission you have to prepare for?”

It’s the wrong thing to say; that much is clear when Lexaeus squares his jaw and takes a step closer.

“You were _talking to yourself,_ Zexion.” 

He scoffs and adopts a bitterly annoyed look, hands balled into fists as he stands his ground. “Do not tell me _you_ have never spoken your thoughts aloud. It’s _quite_ common.”

“That is _not_ what I saw.” Lexaeus seems ready to say more, but he ends up voicing his discontent with a grunt and intense frown. 

Zexion turns on one heel to leave, speaking as he storms away. “I will not be held responsible for you being late to your duties. _Go_ , and dismiss that façade of caring.”

His lookalike meets him as he turns the corner, chuckling quietly into his gloved hand. Zexion doesn’t stop walking. “That won’t stop him. He will come back.”

His voiced thoughts are met with a shrug and a knowing smile. “Let him. If he is wise, he will follow you to the end.”

 

 

_90% Darkening_

He sits in silence, alone in the Grey Area in the middle of the night. But he’s not really alone.

Is he?

He has his doubts. Sleep has come a bit easier in the past few days, if at odd hours, and his thoughts are clearer than they have been in a while. He breathes deep. Exhales.

Again. And again.

It’s the Superior who arrives just as he is considering going back to his room. He greets him with a slight nod, any respect set aside in favor of listlessness.

His other self stands behind the Superior, watching both of them with a knowing eye. His other self frowns tersely and waits for word from the Superior. 

“It’s time.”

 

_100% Darkening_

He sits in silence, golden eyes half-lidded under the shadow of his hood.

Thirteen thrones. An empty one across the nothingness awaits the keybearer.

His other selves wait with him until the very end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The specific meme prompt used here is called the "Darkening Meter" on Tumblr. I tweaked the idea of "darkening to insanity" to something that fit into the KH universe.


	12. Trapped

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As a child, Ienzo assisted Xehanort throughout the heart experiments. As an adult, he is reminded of one of the sins he committed back then.

There was no one left to help him.

Technically, that wasn't true; none of the other apprentices had gone anywhere. But he was no longer in the mindset to reach out to any of them. They were trapped in silence as much as he was.

He had once felt connected and buoyed by his accomplishments in their experiments, but those days were long over. By the time the manufactory containers grew ten rows high, he had fallen into an unnerved silence, head bowed in intense concentration as Xehanort further refined their experiments.

More specimens were needed. Even had been responsible for collection with Xehanort's guidance, picking at the dregs of society that would not be missed for quite sometime. Next were those on extended leave to the capital for work. And now...

Even was needed in the labs. That was what Xehanort had said. Even was needed in the labs, so the responsibility of test subject collection fell upon him.

It went well. Who would be suspicious of a little boy who offered a tour of the castle? Perhaps the 'private' tours could have been questioned, but always in favor of the child who appeared quiet and vulnerable in his long clothes.

On one of his last trips out to the town, he offered his prepared tour pamphlet to an old woman out shopping in the market. She smiled kindly at him and glanced down the street where a little girl was chatting with one of the market vendors.

"I see you out here working all the time. Do you ever have time to play? I'm sure my granddaughter would enjoy another playmate."

He had blanched at her question, following her gaze over to the girl before shaking his head. He had to get back to the castle. Back to Ansem.

'Ansem.'

Sitting in the lab, turned away from the cameras that he knew were present, he wearily rubbed at his eyes. Playing? What did that even mean now?

He was already playing an awful game of Follow the Leader, convinced he could no longer reach out to anyone.

* * *

Ienzo looked at the old pamphlets, yellowed from exposure to the elements. Vague but well-drawn outlines of the castle, carefully written little descriptions. Childish and incriminating.

He glanced at Kairi, her gaze expectant. He neatly lined up the pamphlets before leaving the stack on the table, staring off in the direction of the skeletal remains of the manufactory.

"I know what happened to your grandmother."


	13. Job Advice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> College AU. Featuring Isa and Lea. Ienzo reflects on how he ended up applying for a job as a bartender.

Observe. Listen. Converse but don't console.

Those were the first three pieces of advice Ienzo was given as a bartender, and they were nothing new to him. In the early months of his adoption, he was little more than ears and eyes, ghosting around his adoptive father's house and nodding his wants when asked. If anyone had looked at him as a child, they would likely not to jump to the conclusion that he would be such a smooth conversationalist by the time he left high school. 

The debate team did wonders for his enunciation and confidence while performing in front of others, among other things.

He got into food services towards the latter half of his high school career, wanting to engage a different part of his brain that wouldn't be utterly stressed while completing his university entrance exams. Washing dishes and bussing tables allowed him time to ponder answers to scholarship prompts, and his coworkers were fortunately tolerable, allowing him to study in peace during his longer breaks. 

Outside of work, Ienzo spent his time alternating between studying at home and occupying local coffeehouses for a change in scenery. He continued the habit into his university years, until he became so sick and tired of the smell of roasting coffee that he had to change up his hangouts. Bars were remarkably quiet before the office workday ended and 9-to-5-goers plodded in, so Ienzo would slip in a few hours around noon for lunch and study time. (The two bars he frequented also had better food than the coffeehouses, which made him all the more disappointed he couldn't get into them before he was of legal drinking age.) 

His consistent visits were noted, especially in those slow hours, and Ienzo was soon enough on a first-name basis with some of the workers. They joked about how there must be better places for a student to study, and Ienzo flippantly replied that maybe his books weren't the only things he was studying.

Lea had laughed it off and walked over to take care of a customer, while Isa smiled wryly and continued the conversation. "If you're serious, there are books. And if you're very serious, we might have an opening or two in a few weeks." When Ienzo curiously raised a brow, Isa explained. "We've got a new venue opening downtown and some of the more experienced crew are heading over there. Give it some thought." 

While he initially dismissed the comments, it took a few days before Ienzo found himself considering the idea. He had a half-year of elective classes to get out of the way before he could begin his required major classes, and that was as good a time as any to earn some extra money. So he took Isa's advice and read.

The books proved more entertaining than he expected, and he would find himself smirking as he flipped through the pages. Mixology brought to mind comparisons to chemistry with its requirements of measurement and deft hands, but with hundreds of 'elements' he had never tasted or even imagined together. Was this what was expected of every bartender?

He decided to do some research after finals, joining some classmates for an evening of barhopping. While the others danced and drank, Ienzo watched the bartenders smartly keep their stations clean while dispensing cocktails and shots. It was intriguing, watching how smooth and composed each of them seemed, smiling and trading jokes with patrons while continuing to fill out orders. Did they enjoy the chaos? They certainly hid their stress well, engaging swathes of young women and still managing to be polite in the situation. 

His classmates even dropped by his regular hangouts, where he found Isa and Lea on duty. He wasn't surprised by how animated Lea was behind the bar, but Isa's calm was almost surreal in the constant flurry of beer and shot glasses.

"So what do you think?" Isa acknowledged him as soon as he slid into an empty barstool, his half-smile confident and expectant. Ienzo smirked right back and shrugged, though it quickly turned into a surprised frown when Isa slid a shot of Crown his way. "On me, just this once." 

Ienzo watched as Isa poured a shot for himself, carefully clinking their glasses before downing it. "What keeps you coming back to this job?" he finally inquired, just barely over the throbbing beat of the nearby speakers.

"It's a cliche for customer service, but you have to like satisfying your guests." Isa offered the explanation while slipping his shot glass into a washbin. "If you don't like that, you're not going to last long."

"Satisfying." Ienzo repeated the word, his frown lasting a moment longer before slipping back into a neutral expression.

"Being whatever they want, in that moment. A friendly stranger, a flirt, a wall to vent at." Isa looked over as Lea made a signal at him, plucking a beer glass from a low shelf and handing it over. "You've got to be able to read a person quickly. But I don't think that will be a problem for you."

Ienzo glanced down as Isa slid a stapled form over at him. It only took a moment for him to realize it was a job application, but Isa expertly managed to slip away before he could comment.

When his classmates hollered that they were going to hit another bar, Ienzo took the papers with him.


	14. Finding a New Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Canon AU. Ienzo and Kairi. Based off of a friend's AU in which Ienzo ends up on Destiny Islands with Kairi after "the fall." Ienzo is approximately 11 and Kairi is approximately 6.

A piercing wail interrupts Ienzo's afternoon nap.

He startles awake, his book tumbling from its place over his face and to the sand. The sea breeze flicks several pages before he quickly shuts the book, and he scans the nearby beach in obvious confusion. It wasn't uncommon for him to join the other kids on the play island and end up reading under the shade of a tree; someone had to take responsibility for the boat, and Sora was still a little too young for his dad to entrust him with its maintenance.

The wailing changes pitch and volume, breaking into childish sobs, and his brows quickly knit together as he realizes who it is. "Kairi?" He calls the little girl's name as he stumbles to his feet, kicking more grit into his sandals as he takes off further down the beach.

There was a time where he thought himself numb to the pained cries of other people -- a world, a lifetime, a nightmare, ago. But something about the other children of the islands, numerous and closer to his age than any of those he'd met before, helped him reconnect with buried feelings and a deeper sense of empathy.

So his expression is one of growing concern when he finally spots Kairi on the beach, sitting heavily on the sand with one bare foot curled close. As he approaches, the pieces of the scene are easy to connect together -- her bleeding foot, the hermit crab shell nearby, and the faint remainders of backwards footprints at the water's edge.

Kairi mumbles his name through sobs when she sees him, too distraught to do much more than raise her teary gaze in his direction. He kneels down and reaches for her injured foot, frowning in surprise when she shakes her head and points at the hermit crab shell. When he does nothing, she gestures more fretfully and rubs at her puffy eyes.

"Did I hurt it? Is it okay?"

He blinks a few times and crawls the few feet over, retrieving the slightly cracked shell and bringing it back for Kairi's inspection. Kairi drags herself half onto his knee as he carefully turns over the shell, looking at the twitching little claws visible at its opening.

"It's fine. It might need a new home, though; this one is a little broken now."

Kairi is silent next to him for a moment, save for a relieved little hiccup as his diagnosis. "That's good. I'm sorry I broke your home, Mr. Crab."

Ienzo frowns querulously, taking advantage of their position to check Kairi's bleeding foot. "I don't think you need to apologize. It's still okay."

"But it has to move to a new home now. And that's scary."

He says nothing, trying his best to brush away the wet sand from the broken skin. It's fortunate that he carries bandages; again, because someone had to be the responsible one of the group. As he fishes one out of his pocket and wraps Kairi's foot, Ienzo carefully thinks of the fragments of memory she must be remembering of their first days on the islands.

And so he replies, quiet but confident.

"I know. But it has you nearby, and you make everything a little better."


	15. Looking Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What if you could look back into the past? What if someone in the past could see you looking back?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is more from Lexaeus' perspective, but still felt pertinent to this drabble set.

Lexaeus frowned as he looked at the mirror. The careful search of Castle Oblivion had yielded little more than dozens upon dozens of rooms that were blank and expressionless--lacking character and color. While several of the others ventured down to the basements to continue exploration, he searched the upper floors alone, pondering the meaning behind so many rooms that lacked distinguishing qualities. The rooms seemed to react to memories, only allowing access to the stairways through corridors of darkness or tumultuous readings of their recollections of the past that seemed to make no sense.   


He almost missed the mirror, so used to walking through the white rooms without seeing any difference between them. The mirror, framed in gold, seemed to just reflect the blankness of Oblivion if he looked at it from an angle. But when he stood fully in front of the mirror, he suddenly found himself staring at a familiar scene.

Flowers of many colors. Falling water that reflected the colors of a dawn-painted sky. Stone walls laced with healthy moss.

He didn't know how long he stood there, studying the mirror from different angles, but it soon struck him that what he was seeing wasn't a static image. The angle of the sun falling on the scene was very slowly changing, and more than once he saw a songbird flit down to drink from the edge of the pool. When he saw Vexen--Even--walk into view, his lips parted in silent confusion. A moment later, the small form of Ienzo walked over to join Even, their attention on the water. Even seemed to be explaining the viaducts to Ienzo, as he pointed up and at something out of sight. Ienzo's head tilted, gaze hidden by his hair, as he followed Even's pointing finger.   


Should he say something? He questioned his own sanity as the thought crossed his mind, unsure what to make of this ... illusion or magic that so deeply entranced him.

The window of opportunity was quickly closing; Even turned on one heel to walk away with that purposeful gait of his, expecting Ienzo to follow behind him. And that was exactly what Ienzo did, turning around.

But he didn't have to say anything. The boy stopped, visibly doing a double-take in his direction. Lexaeus took a step forward, lifting a hand to touch the mirror.

The surface didn't give way under his gloved fingers. The boy remained still for a moment, blinking slowly at him, before pointing. Even reappeared briefly, shooting a vaguely agitated look at something he didn't see, before gesturing for Ienzo to follow him.

This time, the boy obeyed--but with more than one uncertain look over his shoulder as he walked away.


	16. Stay or Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aeleus and Ienzo. Two scenarios of relationship guilt. References Lexaeus/Zexion.

The hollow expression on Aeleus’ face speaks of a regret borne too long.

It's not what Ienzo expects when he joins him out on the balcony, overlooking the slow movements of the waking city below. Years of silent protection had wrought Lexaeus’ face into one of cold stoicism, rarely broken by anything other than a judgmental frown. Concern was slow to cross his own face—an emotional disconnect he was still working on—but questions were already on his tongue.

“Aeleus? Did you not sleep well?”

How many times over the years did that large hand, callused under fitted leather, fall on his shoulder? It was supposed to be a comforting, distracting gesture, sometimes followed by consoling words that couldn’t reach a heart that wasn’t there. Lexaeus would look him in the eye and steady him without words, waiting for confirmation to continue—or at least an acknowledgment that he was okay and needed a minute.

But Aeleus won't look at him, and no words come.

Ienzo’s concern shifts to puzzlement, and he slips closer, finding some relief from the morning chill as bare skin meets bare skin.

“Come back to bed and rest a little longer. We can talk when you are ready.”

His faintly encouraging words seems to penetrate the fog, because the hand on his shoulder squeezes tighter. With the slow, tired nod of a burdened man, Aeleus turns and walks back inside, Ienzo still pressed to his side as he limps alongside him.

 

* * *

 

_It’s better this way._

Despite the thought, Ienzo frets. He repeats the words in his head, trying to shut out the rush of emotions that he never thought could be such a _problem._ Maybe Xemnas was onto something after all, with hearts being a burden. It’s a terrible aside–one that leaves him laughing disjointedly under his breath as he shoves another book into his satchel.

He sees the way Aeleus looks at him. The heaviness of his frown. The knot in his brows when he doesn’t think he’s looking. At first, he had dismissed those small signs as part and parcel for the revelations that came about after their recompletion–the insidious truth behind Organization XIII, the layers of betrayal wrought by Xehanort, and their statuses of ‘failure’ vessels.

But Aeleus’ brooding went beyond that. They would discuss, of course, and they would partner together in various tasks throughout the castle… But something was different between them. Asynchronous. Out of step.

He hesitates before lifting his coat off the hook, draping it over his bag. Next are his scarf and gloves, plus a hat he never wore despite the months of colder weather. It’s somewhat astounding to consider how much clothing he’s accumulated in the short time he’s existed outside of the Organization.

It’s also astounding–disconcerting–how quickly he can go from understanding someone to finding them completely impregnable. Aeleus’ silence was different from Lexaeus’, keeping him at a distance even when they were alone. There was no physicality bridging that silence, either; though it wasn’t noticeable at first, he began observing how Aeleus held him out at arm’s length.

Like it was wrong to hold him. Like _they_ were wrong.

His eyes scan the room once more before he gathers his belongings. At the back of his head, he can hear the prickly, offended thoughts that had been left simmering throughout this ordeal. But he isn’t confrontational. Perhaps Zexion was, in his own way, but he feels defensive of his vulnerable heart and all its new emotions.

So he writes a simple note and leaves it on the bed, where the crisp parchment will be visible.

_Thank you._

He says the words as he heads for the door, and repeats them as he shuts it behind him. They have long lost their meaning, only acting as a knell as he slips into the shadows of the hall.

_It’s better this way._


	17. Loyalty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zexion and Marluxia. An analysis of a possible threat.

Colorless. Odorless. Undetectable.  
  
Zexion smiled thinly as he sat across from Marluxia, the stark white walls of Castle Oblivion somehow brighter and cleaner than what he had grown used to in Never Was. It was a rare occasion when he took to drinking tea with any of the neophytes, especially with the Graceful Assassin. This would mark the first time that they would drink alone, without the bustle of some ‘team building’ game going on around them.  
  
Of all the Organization members gathered after Radiant Garden, Marluxia was undoubtedly the most dangerous; he had the ego and ambition that made it obvious why he had become a human-shaped Nobody, as well as an elemental affinity that was both easily understood and terribly underestimated. The swirling flourish of petals often seen when he used his powers belied the dangerous weapon he summoned and the speed with which he cut through his enemies.  
  
Flowers could be as ruinous and deadly as they could be beautiful and beneficial. As he poured the prepared tea into both of their teacups, he found himself comparing the other Nobody to _atropa belladonna_.  
  
 _Atropa belladonna_ , deadly nightshade, was highly toxic from its leaves to its roots—but also a medicinal ingredient in the right hands. Properly controlled, Marluxia was valuable; left to his own whims, a possible detriment.  
  
That was why it would be important to see where he placed his loyalty. Drinking tea together was just one step.  
  
And if there happened to be a poison in the tea, he would trust the various antitoxins flowing through his system to see him through to the end of the meeting.


	18. Curiosity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zexion and Marluxia. No strings attached--maybe. Very Marluxia/Zexion.

“Indulging curiosity,” Number VI had said. When asked why he did not ‘indulge his curiosity’ with the _founders_ , he had scoffed and alluded quite thoroughly to how none of them interested him that way.

A lie? Perhaps. Zexion was called the Cloaked Schemer for a reason, after all. But what did he care?

The _enthusiasm_ on Zexion’s part was a large part of the obsession. The unknowns and pleasures of the physical body brought about something akin to fascination where there was previously only fastidiousness, building with each encounter to the point that they greeted each other with sordid kisses that no longer stopped at meeting lips.

There were no sentiments attached to their meetings--no emotions to connect them. But the mind was capable of going into overdrive, thinking over each and every detail to the point where all other priorities were consumed. Meetings became more frequent. When their lips met, Zexion opened up for him without a thought, even before wakefulness arrived.

As he flicked messy strands of hair from his bed partner’s sleeping face, Marluxia mused that such behavior was as close to _emotional_ as he would ever see of Zexion--learned reactions and obsessive reasoning over what was new and attainable and so dangerously given.

Indulging curiosity indeed.


	19. Soundless Prison

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zexion and the terror of a mission gone awry.

He hammered against the door until it felt like his fingernails would rattle right off numb tips. This was precisely the kind of situation that would make a nervous wreck out of anyone, human or Nobody--stripped of power, warded in silence, completely alone.

Somewhere before the turn of the first hour, he had wondered if this entire mission was somehow Saix's fault. Such deep pessimism, fed by growing thoughts of conspiracy, was unlike him, but he couldn't keep at bay the thought that _someone_ had to have known that the entire world seemed _prepared_ to deal with mages and their ilk. He had never seen so many anti-magic seals in his entire nonexistence, and he almost believed he'd felt a twisting coil of dread deep inside when he realized the sheer magnitude of his situation.

He wasn't sure what ultimately gave him--them--away. Were these people sensitive to their inhumanity, able to sense that they were not what they pretended to be? He was left to second-guess himself when he was dragged away, eyes searching in some rising pseudo-panic for signs of either of his mission partners.

Meditation did nothing to center his mind in this soundless dark. He could feel the cold grit of stone under his gloved hands, the equally cold stone making up the walls surrounding him. Neither gave under his slight weight. The door was heavy but of different material--some kind of wood, if he trusted his senses of smell and touch. The bottom edges of the door were not smooth, his gloves withdrawing with splinters after an exploratory swipe at the tiny gap between door and floor.

There was a strong musty smell that spoke of long disuse. Coupled with the overwhelming silence, he could not help but wonder if he had been thrown into some long forgotten corner, left to die.

He measured the windowless cell by putting one foot in front of the other, hand on the wall for balance. Seven feet long, five feet wide. Some part of him, still managing a shadow of bravado, scoffed that he had seen closets larger than that. But closets were rarely bare like this. Never as soundproof as this.

He counted for awhile, to feel breath pass his lips and words vibrate in his throat. That was how he spent the second hour. And the third. And the fourth. And the fifth. By the sixth, he was crazed enough to rap at the door, at the walls, just to feel reverberations against his flesh. And then there was the aching pain in his hands, and that was how he spent the seventh. A different kind of agony.

Sometime after that, he slept. There were no dreams in his shallow slumber--just darkness that built upon darkness and left him exhausted. Disorientation claimed him as soon as he awoke, and he pressed against the floor and stared at what he imagined was the indentations of the door in front of him.

His shoulders shook. In his tired haze, he could not tell what emotion he was attempting to convey. Fear? Anger? Despair?

...It didn't really matter, did it?

He felt like a child, and he wanted someone to save him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time, no inspiration. Absolutely no idea how this idea took shape, but it was nice to put together a solid drabble.


End file.
